


In Return

by terryh_nyan



Category: Venom (Comics), Venom (Movie 2018)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Biting, Canon-Typical Violence, Consentacles, Couch Cuddles, Dancing, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Light Masochism, Mild Blood, Other, Party Games, Rough Kissing, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Tentacle Sex, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Xenophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:21:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26259337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terryh_nyan/pseuds/terryh_nyan
Summary: The symbiote feels a hand come up to his cheek, cupping his face. When Eddie speaks, his voice is impossibly low.“You’re thinking, V.”---Venom takes the long way round.(In which Eddie teaches Venom to dance, to play party games, to binge-watch Cake Boss, and to accept what is given.)
Relationships: Eddie Brock/Venom Symbiote
Comments: 29
Kudos: 402





	In Return

**Author's Note:**

> I promised you pain. I promised you darkness.  
> Instead, I bring you fluff.
> 
> (A page from the comic books I highly recommend you check out before reading, because there will be references: https://apprenticenanoswarm.tumblr.com/post/185130538284/right-so-regardless-of-the-merits-of-this)

_Love, which bursts untamed inside a gentle heart,  
_ _Grasped firmly at the core of my other half  
_ _And still I ache, for how we were ripped apart.  
_ _Love, which unforgiving claims love in return,_  
_Took hold of me desire so powerful  
_ _That, for my beloved, with passion still I burn._

**(Dante, “Inferno – Canto V”, _Divina commedia_ )**

When Venom stirs back to consciousness a week after the crash, murmuring Eddie’s name inside his head, he’s taken aback by the warm rush that comes to meet him. It’s chaotic, and strong, and impossible to decode.

The symbiote is still weak, and all he can do is let himself be swept by the tide of Eddie’s relief, as his host breathes his name like a prayer and leans on the kitchen counter for support.

“You asshole,” Eddie says after a moment, and this is easier for Venom to process. “I thought I’d lost you.” A pang of sadness, blue and cold, and then another wave of warmth, carrying an unfamiliar taste that he finds himself drinking in. It’s sweet. He likes it.

And because he’s at a loss for words, he replies: _Loser_.

“Dick,” Eddie shoots back. But his response is half-hearted, the hint of laughter behind the words. “Don’t ever pull that shit again. You scared me.”

The symbiote wonders. There’s much in Eddie’s words, but what catches his attention the most through the fog of ongoing recovery is the tacit agreement within them. The acceptance, implicit and absolute.

Tiredness threatens to pull him under again, slowly, before he can ponder any deeper. Eddie seems to understand without missing a beat. “Still sore, aren’t we?”

 _Yes_ , the symbiote drawls, a spark going through him the second he hears Eddie say ‘we’ again. _Need more rest._

“Then do that,” Eddie replies, softer. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

It’s a promise, Venom realizes, although he cannot begin to grasp why. As far as he can remember, Eddie never signed up for this. He accepted their partnership to save the planet; he sheltered him unknowingly when he needed to heal; out of kindness, he would let him stay the necessary time to find an alternative solution. But, from the start, he’d made it abundantly clear that he never wanted any of this. What made him change his mind?

He realizes he must’ve said that last part out loud – or maybe the thought just traveled on its own, all the way across the unbreakable bond they share – because he feels Eddie’s lips curl into a smile as he echoes, so earnest and unguarded it catches Venom completely unprepared: “You. You did.” And then, because his host can never resist a little teasing, he adds: “You dumb parasite.”

_I’m not–_

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Sleep now, alright?”

Venom wants to argue back some more, but recovery is a stronger imperative. He’s pulled back into the darkness, an endless sea of black that could almost pass for the depths of space – except for one thing.

It’s much, much warmer.

***

Learning to share a life is a challenge on them both.

For Venom, the matter is entirely cultural: he doesn’t understand the purpose of ‘restraint’, or ‘morals’, or any of the more annoying abstract concepts Eddie seems to care so much about.

“For the last time: we _cannot_ eat dogs. They’re innocent creatures!”

_Delicious-looking creatures._

“Still!”

But he’s a symbiote – an organism made to find common ground, compromise, co-habit; and, despite his admittedly headstrong temperament, it’s not too difficult for him to do exactly what he was born to do. What he’s always wanted to do.

For Eddie, though? Again, Venom wonders.

As far as he’s managed to gleam, humans are social animals, but they’re relatively self-sufficient as a species. Some of them keep what they call ‘pets’, like Anne does with the fluffy, moody feline on her bay window.

“You’ve grown bigger, haven’t you, Mr. Belvedere?” Eddie all but coos at the animal. Venom watches from behind Eddie’s eyes, holding himself back from taking a bite of its soft, juicy paws.

“Are you fat-shaming my cat?” Anne responds, pouting, but there’s humor in her voice and Eddie goes all warm inside.

Some humans, Venom learned, create a kind of pseudo-symbiotic relationship with each other. As far as he can tell, those relationships are made of shared burdens, intimate conversations and comforting touches – nothing strictly necessary for survival, but apparently it makes life better. Brighter.

Eddie and Anne used to have that; now Anne has it with Dan. He finds it confusing.

“It’s a matter of compatibility,” Eddie replies when he asks about it on the way home. There’s a quiet undertone of sorrow in his voice, and Venom, who has no filters whatsoever, almost regrets voicing his question. “Sometimes, people aren’t as compatible as they think they are.”

_And you don’t know right away?_

“Most don’t. It’s pretty rare, and even then, there’s no guarantee.”

It sounds highly impractical. _We always know right away_ , he says, thinking back on his time at the Life Foundation, host after host after host like a puzzle piece that didn’t fit. At the time he’d grabbed Dan at the restaurant and felt, without question, that they were not a match.

At the magnetic pull he’d felt the first time he touched Eddie through Maria’s hands.

He feels Eddie smile. “Lucky you.” And, despite the playful tone, despite the curved lips, the bitter taste of longing is still there.

Almost without realizing, the symbiote reaches out with a slim, black tendril and runs it through Eddie’s hair. It’s feather-light, and it goes all the way down his cheek before retreating back in silence, like it was never there at all.

There’s a small flicker of surprise in Eddie, but it’s quickly replaced with the same warm, sweet emotion Venom could not name before.

He still can’t, but he thinks he’s getting closer.

***

At some point, Eddie starts what he likes to call ‘Human 101’.

“ ** _Why are you dimming the lights?_** ” Venom asks, poking out of his shoulder.

“Because,” Eddie replies, a smile so bright it completely defies the purpose of a dark room, “tonight I’m teaching you about dancing.”

The symbiote tilts his floating head, which Eddie seems to find funny for some reason.

“ ** _I know about dancing._** ”

“You know about _Dirty Dancing_. This is a different kind of dancing.” Ignoring the puzzled expression on the symbiote’s face, Eddie reaches for his phone. “I would’ve taken you to a proper club, but the music tends to be really loud in those places. Not exactly our cup of tea anymore.”

If Eddie weren’t distracted picking out a song, he’d notice the little skip in Venom’s frame at his last words, like a heart missing a beat. The symbiote is somewhat glad he doesn’t.

Soft notes fill the air. “This okay?” Eddie asks, although he doesn’t need to. He can feel whenever there’s the slightest hint of discomfort, be it due to harmful frequencies or a plate too hot on their fingers. Venom nods anyway.

The apartment doesn’t have much floor at all, but Eddie has cleared out a space in the center of the room by pushing the couch against the wall. He rolls his shoulders and says, “Mind you: I’m not a great dancer.”

“ ** _I suspected._** ”

“Dick,” Eddie says, but it’s only half-hearted. He stretches his arms and then, closing his eyes, begins to sway.

After a moment, Venom asks: “ ** _What is the purpose of this kind of ‘dancing’?_** ”

“To relax,” Eddie replies, without opening his eyes. “To unwind. To feel the music.” As if matching the mood of the room, his voice gets lower, almost as gravelly as Venom’s.

The symbiote watches with increasing interest, taking in each and every one of Eddie’s movements. It’s a slow shaking of limbs, arms rising briefly above the head and then dropping back again – purposeless, but there’s a grace to it. An art, even.

Venom finds he can’t quite look away.

He inches closer, hovering just a hair’s breadth away from Eddie’s face, following his movements as if by instincts; a moth to a flame.

Eddie cracks an eye open and smiles, warm and kind. “Look at you. It appears you’ve got some moves after all.”

The symbiote scoffs, but it’s less than half-hearted and he doesn’t manage to sound quite as offended as he was going for, nor as sharp. “ ** _Got more moves than you._** ”

“Oh yeah?” Eddie says, grinning and a little breathless, and the symbiote suddenly remembers watching city lights from atop a skyscraper and thinking about how beautiful this world truly was. “So let’s see ‘em.”

For a moment, Venom almost wants to say no; to stay and keep watching the hypnotic movements of his host in the dark. But he never backs down from a challenge.

He recedes inside Eddie and, in a heartbeat, his tendrils find their way around his arms, his legs, his chest.

Eddie’s breath hitches. Venom can feel his heart – _their_ heart – picking up its pace, but only slightly, not enough to cause him concern.

Slowly, he starts to move, tendrils in sync with Eddie’s limbs. They sway to the music, finding a rhythm that’s theirs and theirs alone; they push and they pull until it feels like fighting, like swallowing down a prey. Like sleeping, only different in a thousand ways, and not any he can name.

Like being one.

Their pulse quickens; the music grows faster, although not by much: Eddie picked with Venom in mind – Venom’s weaknesses, Venom’s needs. Once again, the symbiote finds himself wondering. The only thing he can provide his host with is safety to dangers he himself causes: the fists of a bad man he needs to eat, the slice of a knife that’s meant for him. The attacks of a stronger one of his kind.

And yet Eddie provides him with so much, to no advantage to himself.

Why?

“You’re thinking, V,” Eddie chides, and Venom almost freezes, worrying he said something he didn’t mean to out loud again. But his host simply continues: “You’re breaking the first rule of dancing.”

“ ** _And what’s that?_** ” the symbiote asks.

Eddie trails a hand over the web of tendrils snaking across his chest, like a caress. “Don’t think.”

“ ** _I thought it was ‘dance’_** ”.

“That too,” Eddie concedes, and he adds “Smartass” in a low, teasing voice.

For once, Venom takes the advice. He does his best to push thought to the back of his mind, leaving his wondering for another day and concentrating on the way Eddie’s body feels mingled with his own, heart beating fast and breath coming in short.

A drop of sweat trickles down his neck. The symbiote catches it with one of his slick, black limbs; he feels Eddie shiver at the contact, a small sigh escaping from his lips.

He doesn’t think about anything after that.

***

Venom doesn’t know if he can knit them back together this time.

The thought terrifies him. He scoops up Eddie’s body like it’s made of glass, enveloping him in darkness until he can drag them through the apartment’s window.

Getting to the bed is an endless ordeal. When he does, Venom throws himself inside the broken blood vessels of Eddie’s wounds, stitching up flesh and pushing guts back where they belong. Constantly, he monitors Eddie’s breathing.

A distant part of him, one wired for survival and survival alone, informs him that Anne’s house is just a few blocks away. A compatible host, one he knows would not refuse him.

The thought alone makes him sick.

He doesn’t know where, along the line, everyone else disappeared into the background until they were small like ants from the top of a building, but they did; they shrunk and shrunk until there was only Eddie in front of his eyes. Eddie, and no one else.

As soon as he feels him stir, fighting against his own exhaustion Venom throws himself in the crook of Eddie’s neck. _Eddie_ , he calls, not caring that his voice sounds broken. _Eddie_.

The voice that calls back to him is not a voice, not exactly, but it’s close. A feeling, a pulsing wave sent purposefully across their bond.

It’s that sensation again, soft and sweet and impossibly warm. The symbiote doesn’t question it this time, only drinks it in, letting the tension fade all at once. Dread melts back into fear, fear into apprehension, and apprehension into something his native language doesn’t have a word for.

He decides he doesn’t need it.

 _Thought I’d lost you_ , he echoes instead, and Eddie’s lips curve into a smile as his mind sends back a reply.

 _Loser_.

Venom curls tight around him that night, and doesn’t let go until morning.

***

One night, Eddie decides it’s time for another ‘Human 101’.

He sits cross-legged on the floor, a bottle of beer in his hands. Venom grumbles in protest.

“Relax, it’s not for drinking,” Eddie reassures him.

The symbiote slithers out of Eddie’s shoulder, his curiosity piqued. “ ** _What’s it for?_** ”

“It’s a game. Or, well, I thought we could combine multiple games into one. Make it a true educational experience.”

They’re sitting in the doorway between the bedroom and, well, the rest of the apartment, where the tiles change from once-cream to spotted black and white. Eddie sets the bottle down in the middle. “Alright, so, this is usually played between more than two people, so I’m going to take a few liberties with the rules.”

The game’s ludicrously long name is ‘Twenty Spins of the Truth or Dare Bottle’. Eddie says it’s a mash-up. Venom replies that it’s dumb.

“Thought you’d say that,” Eddie quips, pulling out a small, red plastic bag from his pocket and dangling it between them, “so I brought a little incentive.” Venom’s reaction of transparent glee makes the corners of his lips twitch, but he moves the bag away when the symbiote lunges towards it. “Nuh-huh. Not so fast.”

“ ** _Why?_** ” Venom definitely does _not_ whine.

“‘Cause it’s a prize.”

The symbiote is torn. On one hand, restraint is not his strong suit (nor does he see the appeal of it); on the other, Eddie’s words sound too much like a challenge not to play along.

“ ** _If I win, do I get the Malteasers?_** ”

“It’s not a win/lose type of game, but yes. At the end of the twentieth round, you get the Malteasers.” Then, seeing the sinister gleam in Venom’s eye, Eddie stresses, all but wagging a finger: “But _only_ if you play fair. No shortcuts.”

“ ** _Fine._** ”

Venom follows Eddie’s instructions and takes his place across from him. For all the talk of it being three games mashed up in one, the rules are ridiculously simple.

Eddie gives the first spin to demonstrate. The bottle’s cap stops in the area of the spotted tiles – which is Venom’s.

“Okay, my turn,” he says, rubbing his hands together. “Truth or Dare?”

Venom ponders for a moment. “ ** _Dare_** ,” he picks then, because it sounds like the gustiest option.

He realizes he might have made a mistake when Eddie’s eyes start gleaming. “Okay. I dare you to sign up on Twitter.”

He immediately regrets his choice. It takes him more than ten minutes to figure out how to make an account, all with zero help whatsoever from Eddie, who simply peers over his figurative shoulder and hums to the tune of _Victorious_ by Fall Out Boy. In the end, Venom hands over the phone triumphantly, if a little frustrated.

“ ** _Done. I win._** ”

Eddie scrolls down on the screen, looking way too amused for Venom’s liking, but also suitably impressed. “So you do. Round’s yours.” Then he gestures for the symbiote to spin.

He does. The bottle cap lands squarely on the cream-colored area of the floor. “ ** _Truth or Dare?_** ” the symbiote asks, smirking in anticipation.

“Truth,” Eddie says with an innocent-looking smile, and Venom deflates a little.

“ ** _Pussy._** ”

It goes on like this for a while: Eddie always picking ‘Truth’ whenever the bottle swings his way (which is less often than Venom would like), the symbiote responding with ‘Dare’ because he’s not a pussy like a certain someone he will not name.

There’s not much for Venom to ask: he’s inside Eddie’s mind. If there’s anything he wants to know, more often than not, all he has to do is look for it.

By the time they hit fifteen, Venom has signed up for about a dozen social media sites, prank called the White House twice, and stolen their neighbor’s guitar pick out of the window. All in all, it’s pretty fun.

As the bottle once again points to Eddie and as, once again, his host picks ‘Truth’, Venom can think of nothing else to ask but the purpose of the beaded ornaments around his wrist.

Eddie looks down at them and starts trailing his fingers along the dark one with the round beads. “To look cool. Plus, they’re mementos.”

“ ** _Mementos?_** ”

Eddie nods. “Yeah. Sometimes, humans keep stuff to remind them of places or events in their lives. That’s what these are.”

Venom looks at him quizzically. Eddie laughs.

“This one, for example,” he continues, “is from a trip to New Mexico I took in college.” Eddie closes his eyes and sends an image through their bonds. There’s heat, and laughter, and red streaks of stratified rocks against bright blue skies. For a moment, Venom is overtaken by the sudden urge to see them.

“This one,” Eddie goes on, touching the thick one made out of rope, “I just made for shits and giggles one time, when I was bored out of my mind in a 4-hour meeting. I guess it reminds me of my time in New York.” Venom glimpses the landscape of the place he’s come to know as New York City from Eddie’s memories, as seen from out of a very tall window.

“And this,” his host says finally, fingertips brushing gently against a thin turquoise rope interspersed with steel beads, “was a present from Annie. We’d gone down to the beach for the weekend… it was the day I proposed.”

There’s a strange feeling to Eddie’s words, and his voice grows quieter. He runs his index finger across the bracelet, thumb brushing against the beads. Elsewhere, Venom realizes. Else _when_.

“We were walking back to the hotel when we came across this kiosk. She saw the bracelet, picked it up, and said: ‘Here. Until you have a ring of your own.’”

The memory is in front of Venom’s eyes before he can blink. Warm, orange light glimmering on the surface of endless water, soft sand between the toes; a heart full of happiness and hope.

A moment of silence passes, then two.

And just like that, with Eddie’s sad eyes in front of him, the questions slither back in the symbiote’s mind. They’re scary and selfish and he doesn’t know how to make them stop.

“Sorry,” Eddie says finally, rubbing an eye with the back of his hand. “I didn’t mean for it to turn so depressing. I guess I’m still– whoa!”

So Venom does the next best thing.

“Hey!” Eddie protests, pulling at the small red bag one instant too late as they both tumble backwards on the floor. He watches it disappear inside the symbiote’s maw with a dejected look on his face. “I thought we agreed that was for later.”

“ ** _We reconsidered._** ”

His host doesn’t stay mad at him for long – maybe five seconds total. Then he’s smiling that dumb, undecipherable smile of his and the strange, sweet-tasting warmth engulfs the symbiote once more. Venom doesn’t move, burying his face in the crook of Eddie’s arm and staying there long past he’s finished chewing.

“Hey, what’s this?” Eddie asks, turning over his wrist and staring at the brand-new, cosmic black band around it.

“ ** _A memento,_** ” the symbiote replies. “ ** _So you don’t forget._** ”

“Forget what?” his host says, voice impossibly soft.

Venom chooses his words carefully.

“ ** _Our victory at this dumb game of yours._** ”

A snort. “I already told you that’s not how it works.”

“ ** _Sounds like what a loser would say._** ”

Eddie doesn’t reply. They just stay like that for a while, Eddie cushioning Venom’s slippery form, the symbiote listening to his host’s steady breathing.

There’s another wave of warmth, and this time, Venom feels like he can almost grasp it.

***

They’re curled up on their ratty old couch, watching a marathon of _Cake Boss._

Predictably, it makes them hungry.

 _Eddie,_ Venom pokes at his consciousness. _Another._

“Catch,” Eddie says, without missing a beat, and throws a piece of chocolate in the air.

The symbiote catches it easily with a tentacle and gulps it down, laughing internally at the easy challenge. Eddie should know by now he cannot possibly fail at this.

As if perceiving his train of thought, Eddie huffs out a laugh and says: “Good boy.”

Venom is about to throw him a glare, because he may still be new at this whole Earth business but he is perfectly able to recognize when he is being treated like a dog, thank you very much. Except that whatever he was about to say dies in his throat when Eddie’s palm comes to rest on his head, fingers digging in softly and… stroking?

The contact feels strange. He’s aware that humans are a very physical species and will engage practically anything with their hands, and Eddie is hardly an exception – he just never happened to be on the receiving end of it for so long a stretch of time. Among the others of his kind, on Klyntar and elsewhere, there was only one purpose for physical contact: to destroy.

Earth is so different. Eddie is different.

“Are you…” Eddie all but gasps, voice lowering to a whisper, “… _purring_?”

Venom practically growls. _We do not ‘purr’._

And yet he finds he cannot stop the micro-vibrations making the surface of his alien skin ripple in response to the soft scratching and kneading of Eddie’s fingertips. He’s a puddle of contentment in Eddie’s lap, and a wave of amusement crosses their bond from his host’s side.

Venom huffs. Most humans would be terrified of him; certainly they wouldn’t dare _laugh_.

He’s reminded once again just how unlike any other humans – any of the creatures in any worlds he’s seen – Eddie is. _His_ Eddie.

A loser to his kind, and yet the savior of their world.

“You like this.”

And just like that, the questions come crawling back in Venom’s mind.

_Yes._

Questions of what exactly he brings to the table.

“It’s not weird?”

Questions of what business a Klyntar lowlife like him has being fed, being sheltered, being cared for by someone like Eddie.

_…No._

Being _touched_.

Eddie’s heartbeat speeds up imperceptibly, but nothing is imperceptible to Venom. Nothing about Eddie could ever be.

Before he can stop himself, following a raw instinct he does not entirely understand, the symbiote surges up against Eddie’s chest, pressing his back into the cushions. The chocolates clatter to the ground.

His host blinks up at him.

It’s then that Venom notices something. Notices that Eddie’s breath is coming in shorter, cheeks flushed and eyes half-lidded, pupils wide and searching. Venom runs a tendril along the skin of his stomach, and his skin lights up in the wake of his touch.

The symbiote stares back into his eyes, feeling a strange panic manifest across his own face as Eddie’s heartbeat speeds again, faster and faster – and, this time, he fears it is not Eddie’s doing.

For a long moment, he just looks at Eddie.

He’s everything.

“V?”

He’s everything, and Venom’s nothing.

The symbiote feels a hand come up to his cheek, cupping his face. When Eddie speaks, his voice is impossibly low.

“You’re thinking, V.”

When Eddie pulls him down, Venom offers no resistance. When Eddie moves his lips tentatively against his own, memories of a dark forest surfacing, Venom lets it happen, melting against him in a ripple of translucent biomass. When soft fingers come up on the other side of his face and start kneading, stroking, holding him closer than skin, Venom can only follow Eddie’s lead, chaos swirling inside him as the contact deepens and deepens.

But then Eddie’s tongue darts out to meet his, and that is the moment Venom throws thinking out of the window and decides he’s done _letting things happen_.

His response is almost violent, and Eddie welcomes all of it. Venom licks and bites and pushes back tenfold, swallowing each sound, touching every inch of skin he can reach. He splits his lower body into what feels like a thousand tentacles, snaking and spreading underneath every layer of fabric daring to cover Eddie’s body until nothing else exists between them – until nothing else _can_.

It’s inebriating and, at the same time, it’s terrifying. Because, once again, he’s laying claim to the body and soul of Eddie Brock, and this time it has nothing to do with survival, or bonding, or saving a planet on the brink of extinction (although it feels that way and more). Once again he’s taking, taking, taking–

“You’re still thinking, V,” Eddie murmurs, a hair’s breadth away, and the gears spinning in Venom’s mind halt to a stop. There’s something impossibly tender in the way he speaks, the way he kisses back like he doesn’t mind being taken, doesn’t mind offering Venom every breath his lungs will give. “You’re breaking the rules.”

He cannot stop himself then: the symbiote dives into kiss after kiss, touch after touch, drinking in Eddie’s gasps, Eddie’s warmth, the maddening rush of chemicals inside Eddie’s brain. He realize, with a desperate jolt of his consciousness, that all he wants – all he _needs_ – is to make more.

How can he make more?

“Stop breaking the rules,” Eddie whispers into his ear as a reply to a thought he never intended to voice, and Venom can feel the mischievous smile curving his lips like a tattoo on his everchanging skin. “And mind the–”

The symbiote doesn’t let him finish. He digs his teeth in the crook of Eddie’s neck, edges pricking at the soft, sensitive skin until they draw blood and a delicious, high-pitched moan that stretches on forever.

Venom sucks on the wound, and the feeling of Eddie shivering helplessly against him, leaning into a thousand touches in all the right places, makes him shake right alongside him. There’s raw need in the interstitial space where their consciousnesses overlap, and shockwaves of pleasure, and something that might be laughter. All melting into one – just like them.

Venom draws an incoherent, desperate sound from Eddie’s throat as he wraps himself around him and buries himself inside him, and it’s just like dancing: he’s pushing and pulling, a tide of quivering biomass washing mercilessly over the shore of the most sensitive parts of Eddie’s body, until no one could ever tell where one of them stopped and the other began. The thought sets his nerves alight.

 _‘Stop breaking the rules’_ , he says?

“Fuck, please, V–”

Venom pins his wrists over his head and he _takes_ ; takes until the room is filled with Eddie’s voice, until every termination in his host’s body is hoarse from screaming his name, until there are no more rules left to break.

He takes and he worries, distantly, through a haze of warmth and need, that he isn’t ever going to be able to stop.

***

One day, Eddie takes them to the aquarium.

It’s almost comical to see him fumble at the ticket office for ‘Two– no, sorry, _one_ ticket, please.’ Venom is about to tease him for it, when Eddie crosses into a long corridor and, suddenly, the symbiote feels the breath leave their lungs.

Light engulfs them from every direction. Light, and water, and _life_.

Venom is rarely speechless, but this time there isn’t a single word crossing to the other side of their bond. Eddie puffs his chest with pride.

 _How do you feel about taking the wheel for this one?_ he speaks softly inside their mind, and takes a swift step back into their consciousness, pushing Venom gently to the forefront. The symbiote stumbles briefly, catching himself at the last possible moment.

It takes a moment for Venom to remember how to operate Eddie’s body. When he does, all he can do is walk with an expression of wonder on their face, step slow and eyes wide.

The creatures are beautiful, iridescent in their multicolored scales and so, so graceful. The harmony is artificial, carefully engineered, but perfect nonetheless.

He stares for an impossible amount of time to each animal, each plant, rapt by the seamless interaction. He watches as a clownfish burrows in the safety of an anemone, lilac-white and shimmering, and follows the glide of the majestic manta ray with a remora tucked under its wing-fin. For the first time in a long time, Venom thinks of his old home – before Earth, before the comet, before everything.

Finally, his eyes land on a purple-reddish, squishy-looking creature on the bottom of a tank. The label says, in all-caps letters, _Octopi._

“I know these,” he says, voice barely above a whisper, crouching until he’s face-to-face with the animal. A hand comes up, fingers sliding hesitantly over the glass. “We _had_ these.” He _was_ these.

Eddie thrums in the back of his mind. _I read an article last week, while you were asleep. It speculated that octopi could actually be aliens. It sounded like a long shot, but I thought, what’s the harm in trying?_ He gives a small chuckle, soft and impossibly fond. _Who knew? The conspiracy theorists were right after all._

The creature seems to sense a kindred spirit on the other side of the glass. A small tentacle comes up to meet Venom’s – Eddie’s – hand. Venom pushes a slim tendril forward and the octopus plasters itself against the glass and crawls upwards, suction cups popping along with the movement.

On the small rectangle of text next to the glass, there’s a few lines about the theory Eddie was talking about. _‘Some scientists have speculated that the ancestral Nautilus’ DNA came into contact with the Earth’s ecosystem from outer space more than 500 millions of years ago, after a meteor shower’._

 _They rode in on a comet_ , Eddie continues. _Just like you._

Eddie’s heart – Venom’s heart – is hammering, a primal nostalgia pricking at the corners of their eyes.

“Why did you bring me here, Eddie?” Venom asks quietly in Eddie’s voice.

Eddie is silent for a while. _Because_ , he replies finally, _everyone misses home. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t missing it too much._

“Why?”

A beat, then two. _No reason._

There’s more to it, hidden behind a thick film in a corner of Eddie’s mind. Venom can glimpse the faint impression of fear, and a blue-grey memory of heartbreaking loneliness.

 _Homesick people_ , Eddie says, hesitation rippling through his low voice, _they tend to go home, eventually._ _I thought, maybe… you could come here instead. When it gets to be too much._

There’s a tear on the corner of his eye, and Venom has to blink it away. He knows almost right away it isn’t his.

_I’m sorry. It’s selfish, isn’t it? You should be free to come and go if that’s what you want to do. I can’t even imagine what it must be like, being light years away from everything you’ve ever known. I just–_

“I don’t want to go back.”

Slowly, Venom rises to his feet. Eddie is silent.

“I meant what I said that day.” Images of a dark forest travel through their bond, from Venom’s end to Eddie’s. “I would like to stay. That is… if you’ll have me.”

“Of course I will,” Eddie says in his own voice, taking back control so he can say it out loud. “Always.”

There it is again, that warm feeling spreading like the rays of a small sun from the center of their chest. And just like that, Venom finally realizes what it is.

_Eddie… Thank you._

Eddie’s lips twitch into a smile.

“What for?”

In their mind, Venom just shakes his head.

He doesn’t say _Everything_ , but he thinks Eddie can feel it anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> So, I love the take of Venom being absolutely smitten from day 1... but at the same time, I was really craving for an alternative take in which Venom is the one who slowly learns to reciprocate Eddie's love. These two will be the death of me, is2d.
> 
> The opening quote is a translation I made myself. I found some absolutely amazing ones out there, better than mine, I'm sure, in a thousand ways. But none of them emphasized the part I wanted, which was the concept of "loves which allows no loved one not to love in return", and I wanted it done in the same meter as the original. So, you know what they say: if you're craving to open your tentacle fic with a piece of historically untranslatable Italian poetry... #justdoit
> 
> Thanks for reading~ comments are always appreciated!
> 
> EDIT: Completely forgot to mention: the "octopi are aliens" thing comes from an actual study. 100%. You can read more here: https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/S0079610718300798


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